


When I Get That Feeling

by MGreenwood (Majestrix)



Category: Charmed (TV 2018)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Inappropriate Use of Healing Magic, Stubborn People Being Stubborn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:06:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23832115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Majestrix/pseuds/MGreenwood
Summary: Harry and Macy discover a particularly interesting side effect to one of Harry's powers. Further investigation of said side effect is the only logical next step. Isn't it?
Relationships: Harry Greenwood & Macy Vaughn & Maggie Vera & Mel Vera, Harry Greenwood/Macy Vaughn
Comments: 23
Kudos: 142





	1. Stubborn Is As Stubborn Does

It’s one foot in front of the other until they’re through the portal, the thrum of energy dissipating with a silent snap that never fails to put her teeth on edge. 

They’ve left the forest behind, but the injuries sustained while on this mission come through the portal with them. Regardless, Macy is more than happy to see the command center as they hobble in. 

Harry wobbles and she grasps his arm, easing him into a chair before he hits the ground hard. 

“How hard did that troll hit you?” she asks, wincing at the blood that falls into his eyes.

“I’m not sure, but I feel it was personal,” Harry mutters, leaning back and closing his eyes briefly. 

“I’ll be right back,” Macy murmurs, crossing the room to the sink. She wets a cloth and returns to Harry, gently dabbing the cuts at his brow and hairline, watching the cleaned skin knit itself together slowly. 

“You shouldn’t be doing this for me, you all are hurt,” he says, but the fact he doesn’t open his eyes lets Macy know his body is kicking into overdrive to heal him. 

“You can’t heal if you’re hurt,” Macy says.

“I could,” Harry objects. 

“It would just take longer and be more painful for you,” Maggie interjects from a few chairs over, her head on the table. “We don’t want you in pain just as much as we don’t want to _be_ in pain.”

More blood floods down his face and Macy must root around in his hair to find a sharp bit of wood embedded in his scalp. “I’m going to pull this out,” she warns him, and before he can tense up Macy yanks it free, wincing as Harry lets out a low sound of pain. A few swipes of the cloth in her hand and the blood is no longer pouring down his face and Harry’s able to open his eyes.

He stares up at her and their relative positions suddenly feel extremely intimate.

“I can hear my collarbone grinding every time I try to move,” Mel says, her voice holding a curious mix of horror and intrigue. “It’s so weird.”

Harry immediately scrambles up from the chair, gently grabbing Mel and leading her to where he was once sitting. 

“Why didn’t you tell me you’d broken or fractured your clavicle?” he asks as both he and Macy try to get Mel’s jacket over her shoulder. 

Macy pulls Mel’s collar over and gasps at the swelling revealed. 

“Does it hurt badly?” she asks.

Mel shrugs and yelps, immediately looking as if someone had taken the warmth out of her skin. 

“Yeah,” she says, her voice high and thin with pain. “I can’t lift my arm and moving my shoulder feels like hell.”

Harry sighs and immediately hovers his hand over the site of the swelling, and Mel’s shoulders loosen before she yelps, eyes wide. 

“Ooh, that is _freaky_.”

“What?” Macy asks, doing her best to stay out of Harry’s way. She doesn’t like seeing her sisters in pain when there’s nothing she can do about it.

“I felt the bone snapping back and it just felt weird,” Mel says. 

“Please try to hold still,” Harry says, frowning in concentration as he moves his hand over Mel’s shoulder. “That should do it. How do you feel now?” he asks, his voice fondly gentle. 

Mel twists her mouth to avoid smiling as she holds out the hand on the arm she couldn’t previously move. 

“I fell on my hand.” Her first and middle fingers are swollen, but Harry makes quick work of setting them to rights. “Nothing was broken, right?”

“Merely jammed, and not even that anymore.” Harry turns her hand back and forth and gestures for her to wiggle her fingers. “How does that feel?”

“Better than ever. Thanks, Harry,” she says, and impulsively leans forward to give him a hug.

Macy looks at both warmly before she turns to find her youngest sister still in the same position, having fallen asleep with her head on the table, cradling her left wrist in her lap. 

“Maggie?” she whispers as she moves close, hoping not to startle the young woman awake. 

No response.

“Maggie?” Macy tries, a little louder and a little closer. 

Maggie immediately snaps up. 

“I’m awake, I’m awake,” she shouts, gasping when Macy rears back, hands over her nose and blood seeping through her fingers. “Oh my god, Macy! I’m so sorry! Shit!” Maggie whimpers when her movement jostles her arm. 

The command center is suddenly filled with shouting and as her sight clears Macy waves them off. 

“I’m fine,” she says, but it comes out _I’m find_. She raises the hand holding the already bloody cloth to halt Harry’s advance. “Help her.” Mel looks unconvinced and Macy blinks away tears as the pain finally recedes. “I’m fine,” she says again. 

Macy turns and goes back to the sink, trying to clean up before the blood hits her jade-colored blouse. She likes this blouse but doesn’t feel like hand cleaning anything in the foreseeable future. 

The throbbing in her head is louder than it was before, but that’s to be expected when you’ve been knocked in the head a few times over the course of so many hours. But now instead of being confined to the back of her head the headache feels like it’s enveloped her whole head. 

Nothing a bit of sleep won’t cure, she’s sure of it. 

Macy watches the red blood hit the porcelain of the sink and immediately fade to pink before swirling completely away. She blinks and turns to find Harry at the door of the washroom, staring at her worriedly. 

“What?” she asks. 

“I asked if you were alright,” he says as he moves closer. “I haven’t healed you yet.”

Macy can see the exhaustion etched in Harry’s handsome features and she shakes her head. “I’ve just got a little headache. Nothing Aleve couldn’t fix. You still have injuries you’re dealing with and you should rest.”

“We should all rest,” he corrects. 

“Right,” she says, suddenly self-conscious under Harry’s scrutiny. “What? Do I have something on my face?”

“Macy are you sure you’re alright?” he asks.

She musters up as much of a smile as she’s able. 

“Absolutely. I just want to get home and into bed. How’s Maggie?”

“The arm _was_ broken and she’d sprained her ankle. I think this will be the last mission she attempts in high heeled boots,” Harry says dryly.

“I think we both know that’s not true,” Macy says. She almost laughs but her stomach drops, and she finds herself beating back the urge to vomit as her mouth fills with saliva.

“Macy?”

Macy swallows twice before she trusts her ability to speak. 

“I’m fine,” she says normally, shooing him out of the washroom doorway so she can leave. “Let’s go home.”

Reluctantly, Harry says nothing and Macy is ever so grateful because while they begin to shut down the command center for the night the adrenaline is draining away and parts of Macy’s body feel like they’re lighting up, sparking brightly behind her eyelids every time she blinks. Her back warms until she feels like it’s on fire and it takes everything for her not to cry out.

One foot in front of the other.

On the way home Macy concentrates on the chatter of her sisters to distract her from anything that would try to keep her from remaining upright. She counts her breaths and when she can’t do that anymore she counts her steps until she recognizes the fence that surrounds the vacant lot that is also their house. 

The urge to throw up grows strong again but Macy’s almost at the finish line; she’ll be damned if she loses it all now. The steps loom before her and Macy wonders how she forgot there were steps to their front door.

She holds her breath and starts up the stairs. Macy almost loses her footing on the second to last one because Harry puts a hand to her back and instead of bringing her the normal comfort it feels like a hot poker branding her skin.

“Overworked muscles,” she says softly at his wide-eyed horror, the pain leaving her almost breathless.

“You should let Harry take a look,” Mel says as she opens and holds the door for everyone to shuffle in. 

Well, everyone else walked in. _Macy_ , on the other hand, struggles to make her feet work correctly and does shuffle across the threshold. 

“I’m fine,” she insists.

“You don’t look it, though,” Maggie says, taking a step toward her.

Macy raises a hand again. “I am fine,” she grits out. “Or I will be after I take a bath and some medicine and get some sleep.”

Harry narrows his eyes. “Macy –” 

“If I’m still sore in the morning I’ll let you heal me then, okay? After we’ve both had a good night's sleep.”

Macy doesn’t wait for a response because she is going to have to concentrate way more than normal in order to make it to her bedroom. The pounding in her head is so bad she can’t let her teeth rest against each other, or it feels like electricity arcing through her jaw. 

After what feels like hours she’s alone in her room, and Macy rushes as quickly as she can to her ensuite, making it as far as her sink rather than the toilet. It’s all bile as it burns its way out of her; she skipped breakfast and drank espresso for lunch. She’d kick herself for that now if she could be reasonably sure she wouldn’t end up on the floor if she tried to balance on one foot.

Macy rinses out her mouth as she remains propped up by the bathroom counter, staring at her shower – she’s close to it already and it takes less work than a bath. Maybe she should just take the shower and leave the bath for tomorrow.

When Macy finally straightens the dizziness is back with a vengeance and she realizes there’s no way she’ll be able to stand up under the water with the world insisting on tilting about at whim. 

She wipes tears away and grimaces as she forces her jacket off, her back screaming the entire time as she maneuvers herself as gently as she can out of the garment. The satiny fabric of her shirt is clinging to her back, and as Macy stares at the inside of her jacket she understands why. 

But when had she hurt her back?

Macy doesn’t remember much between stepping in front of a troll to let a witch – Amber – run to Harry to be orbed away and their return to the Safe Space bunker. But it doesn’t matter, she is determined to have her bath, damn it.

 _One foot in front of the other, Macy_ , her father used to say. _Don’t worry about anything else but one foot in front of the other_.

~*~

Unease.

Harry opens his eyes and realizes he’s alone in the dimly lit kitchen, mug of tea on the table before him. He touches the mug and fears it to be lukewarm at best. The last thing he remembers is gratefully accepting the mug from Mel and taking a seat at the table to enjoy a sip in her company. 

When had he fallen asleep?

Moreover, what woke him?

The urgency of the disquiet within is making the hairs on the back of His arms and neck stand on end, and Harry glances up at the ceiling as his heart drops.

_Harry…_

The world spins and he’s in the second-floor bathroom with no real, deliberate effort. The curtain that hangs around the vintage claw-foot tub is half down and falling into the tub. Harry darts forward and wrenches it away to find Macy submerged beneath the water, her curls floating around her like some sort of halo.

She’s not breathing.

Even as Harry’s conscious mind shrinks away from the horror his decades honed instincts kick into high gear. Immediately he jumps into the tub, holding himself over Macy’s prone form in order to get the best leverage to lift her up. Once she rests against the back of the tub, Harry notices the water is tinged pink. He takes her in, seeing no readily identifiable injuries even as he presses his hand flat against her chest, searching for a heartbeat.

He doesn’t find one.

Harry _pushes_ with his healing sense, letting the magic pour from his touch to quest through Macy’s body. After a torturous few seconds she stirs, lunging to the side to vomit clear water.

Harry realizes something is still wrong when Macy falls back, listless and confused. 

“Macy?” he asks, dread growing in his gut when she seems to struggle to focus on him or his voice. “Macy, love?”

She doesn’t respond, save a low moan.

Harry lifts his hands to both her temples and almost cries out at what he can intuit – bleeding on the brain. He pushes again, letting the magic knit her subdural injuries closed and healing them as if they never were.

When Harry opens his eyes and sees Macy’s dark brown ones, he sees the alert intelligence he’s grown to expect and love looking back at him warily. 

“Macy,” he breathes, daring not to lower his hands just yet. “How are you feeling?”

Macy glances around and licks her dry lips. 

“Like I’m sitting in a tub of blood and vomit,” she says. “Naked.”

Harry involuntarily glances down and then immediately back up to her face again. His pajama pants and top are soaked to his waist, and the discomfort of being wet and fully clothed begins to trickle in. 

“Can you stand?” he asks, lowering his hands slowly.

Macy glances around and grimaces. 

“I think… I think I need help. My back,” she winces.

“Is that the source of the blood?” Harry asks, dismayed as Macy only nods. “Okay, I’m going to orb us into your room and try to leave most of this water behind.” 

He can see something about his statement has intrigued her, but exhaustion looms again. Harry devotes more energy than he should to masking the shake of his hands when he grasps Macy’s upper arms. He pulls her flush against him but pauses in horror when she gasps and cries out.

He feels her shuddering breath against his cheek. 

“It’s okay,” she whispers. “It’s just my back.”

“Just your - Hold on.” Harry pulls as much of his energy inward and focuses on two things, making it into Macy’s room and doing so standing. The universe bends – literally – to his will and he opens his eyes to see they’re in the oldest charmed one’s bedroom, mildly damp.

Before he can celebrate the win, Macy’s knees buckle, and Harry catches her before she stumbles out of his arms and to the floor. The mirror catches his eye and from his vantage point he can see Macy’s back, and the dark purpling bruises all over her warm tawny skin make him feel ill. Amongst the bruises are open wounds and scrapes that are beginning to well with blood.

“Oh my god,” Harry breathes as he straightens as carefully as he can without jostling the woman in his arms. “Can you stand?”

Macy nods rather than responding audibly, and after two tries is successful, but she’s still leaning heavily against Harry.

“Macy, love?”

She shivers at the sound of her name from his lips. 

“Yes?”

“Are you able to hold on until I return from changing my clothes?”

Macy pulls away just enough to look at Harry in the face. 

“Return for what?” 

“Your back,” he reminds her.

As soon as he says the words the pain flares to the forefront of her mind. 

“Right,” she grunts. “Actually, I’m fine now. You can go change your clothes and go to bed if you want.”

Harry prays to whatever deity is listening for patience and strength. 

“If you’re alright, then why don’t you go ahead and sit on your bed?”

Macy grits her teeth at the thought of moving and shuffles her feet a bit. 

“Am I doing it?” she asks hopefully.

Harry sighs. “Would it surprise you to learn that in fact, no, you’re not?”

“It would, damn it,” she mutters. 

Harry almost rubs her back before he remembers. 

“Since you cannot stand on your own, we’re going to have to get you onto the bed,” he says apologetically.

“You don’t know that,” Macy says quietly. “Just go, and I’ll just stay here and not move.”

Harry sighs and presses his cheek against her sweaty temple. 

“Darling, if I let you go, you’re going to meet the floor. Come on, we’re going to do this together.” He starts shuffling them carefully toward the bed that dominates the room. 

“Wait,” she cries, grabbing his bicep. “I don’t want to get my bed wet. Can you grab a sheet or something out of my chest?”

Harry involuntarily looks down, though he can’t see anything, and just happens to see Macy pointing to the cedar chest at the bottom of her bed. 

“Right, sorry,” he mutters, ears reddening at her knowing chuckle.

He moves them closer to the bed so he could lean down and pry open the chest with one hand. Unfortunately, he had to let Macy go briefly to reach down far enough to find a sheet, but he snags one and hurriedly unfurls it, returning before her legs give out again. Awkwardly he brings it around, letting it drape loosely on her hips. 

Macy accepts the material from him to hold against her front. It’s not clothing, but it’ll do until Harry returns to heal her. 

“Are you ready?”

She shakes her head. 

“No,” she answers truthfully. 

Harry nods. 

“That’s okay, because we’re going to do it now, anyway. Okay, we’re moving, we’re moving, now fall forward for me,” he says, bracing himself on her bed with one damp knee. Macy awkwardly falls forward, mostly in his arms, and with a strained yelp he bounces them both, managing to get her truly laying across her bed. “Macy, love?”

Macy presses her face hard into her duvet, releasing her jaw and relaxing as much as she can dare. 

“I’m fine,” she rasps. 

“I’ll return as quickly as I can,” he promises.

“I know,” she says stiffly. 

He doesn’t move, knowing he must, but Harry doesn’t want to leave Macy alone. 

“Harry?”

“Yes?” Harry asks quickly.

“You’re getting my bed wet.”

Harry scampers carefully yet quickly off the bed, doing his best to not jostle Macy any more than he must. He contemplates orbing to his room but the tremor in his arms is back, so he runs-walks instead, pulling off the damp shirt before he kicks the bedroom door shut behind him. He throws on another set of pajamas and rushes back to Macy’s room.

He knocks twice and opens the door to find she hasn’t moved a centimeter since he left. 

“Macy, I’ve returned, no longer damp,” he says, closing the door behind him. Harry sees her nod once, but her eyes are closed tightly and it’s obvious she’s in pain. 

Harry immediately climbs onto the bed again and holds his hands over the bruised and broken flesh of Macy’s back. It takes a second longer than he wants to feel the power flow from his hands, but the light falls onto Macy’s skin and begins to knit her skin back together and the purpling beneath her skin begins to fade. 

Macy grimaces at the curious itching sensation spreading across her back, but warmth immediately chases it and she feels her muscles unknot as the pain evaporates. She almost weeps at the euphoria that is the second the body registers absence of pain. The energy coursing through her makes Macy want to stretch like a cat but suddenly it ends and the pain creeps back, more than an ache but it’s no longer distractingly stabbing at her internal organs. 

“To continue, I’ll have to touch you,” Harry says, and Macy can hear the weariness in his voice.

Macy tries to sit up but gasps as something feels like it’s twisting inside, and she falls back onto her front as she tries to breathe through it.

“You were about to tell me I could stop, weren’t you?” Harry’s chuckle is dark and if the pain hadn’t knocked the breath from her, Macy would have _words_ to say. Whole sentences, even.

Doesn’t matter that it’s true, she can’t let him call her out like that. 

Large, warm hands rest against her lower back and the mean thought she has on the tip of her tongue flees in the face of Macy’s new reality.

Harry’s hands are on her bare skin. 

She forces herself not to react, keeping herself still. Macy can almost feel his concentration through the feather-light touch of his calloused palms. The energy she’d felt before feels amped up to eleven, and her muscles contract as that energy seems to warm her nerve endings. If someone pushed Macy to describe it, she’d have to say it felt… questioning. Searching.

“Oh, _oh god_ ,” she groans out. Whatever it was searching for, it found. Macy wonders how fast she can pack a bag and walk off into the world to never return. 

Harry’s hands immediately leave her body. “Macy, am I hurting you?”

“No,” she yelps. _There must be a potion to let me die of my own embarrassment_.

Macy doesn’t breathe until Harry’s touch returns to her body. He shifts his hands from her back to the sides of her abdomen and she _wants_ to blame the energy coursing between them and the unusual circumstances but Macy’s pretty sure it’s neither of those things.

The energy isn’t helping, though.

Macy presses her face into the duvet as she tries to maintain the semblance of control but all she can think about is how easy it would be for Harry to move closer and slide his hands around to cup her breasts. She bites the bed covers in efforts to keep her mouth closed against the noises she wants to release. 

“I believe I’ve healed everything; does anything still hurt? I don’t care how small a discomfort it may be; I would like to know.”

Macy swallows and tries to sound normal. Not turned on. Nonchalant, even. 

“No, yeah, everything’s fine,” she mutters against the comforter.

“I’m sorry, what?”

A low whine escapes Macy’s throat and after she manages to survive the wave of mortification that threatens to drown her, she tries again. 

“Yes,” she says, lifting her head to be heard clearly. The look on his face makes her heart drop. “Don’t look at me like that,” Macy whispers. 

“How should I look at you? You almost died and I’m still not sure how I heard you, but I’m profoundly grateful I did. Macy, what were you thinking?”

Macy sits up, pulling the sheet with her and marveling at the way her body responds to her commands now. 

“Because you were exhausted,” she says. “You could barely stand when we got back to the command center. You needed your rest in order to heal yourself, too.”

“And so, I should’ve just let you die?” Harry asks. “Do you really think so little of your life?”

Macy opens her mouth and closes it, unable to think of an appropriate retort. 

“I’d also like to talk about why you didn’t bother to tell me you were so injured in the first place.”

“I didn’t think it was that bad,” she said.

“Weren’t you in pain?” 

Macy clenches her jaw. “Yes.”

“Then –” Harry drops his head, chin hitting his chest as he sighs softly. “I can’t have this conversation right now; I can barely keep my eyes open. I hope you get some rest, Macy,” he says and pushes himself off her bed to stalk from her room. 

Macy watches him go; the sheet still clutched to her chest. She wants to be angry – she was trying to spare him the agony of overextending himself! _She_ was trying to do the right thing!

She’d seen how wrung out Harry was after fixing Maggie’s arm and Mel’s collarbone, not to mention anything else he was healing on his own person. Macy wrinkles her nose and realizes the dull ache where Maggie’s head had connected was now gone.

Macy’s anger escapes like water through a colander and something not quite fatigue settles into her body. How can she stay angry at Harry when she would do the exact thing, feel the exact way he does if she were in his position?

She drops the sheet and bundles it up before putting it in her hamper and pulling on her robe. Macy intends on finishing her bath but when she gets to the bathroom she’s horrified at how much blood is in the water, and how it looks like there had been a struggle from how the shower curtain was more in the bath than on the rod.

It looks like a crime scene. 

Macy holds her breath and leans over the bathtub to pull the stopper. Maybe she’ll stick to a shower tonight. 

~*~

The next morning Macy was up by midmorning feeling refreshed and fully healed and checking after her sisters. After judging for herself, Maggie and Mel were pronounced back to peak form, leaving the only person left to worry about being their resident Whitelighter. 

Macy hangs back when her sisters go in to Safe Space, hoping to catch Harry alone so she can talk but as she busies herself in the kitchen, one o’clock rolls around and she realizes he hasn’t come down yet. 

A bit of concern lances through her but Macy tries not to jump to conclusions. On a tray, she places a teapot full of Harry’s favorite tea, some freshly made scones, and his much-beloved elderberry preserves and clotted cream. 

Ruing the lack of telekinesis, Macy manages to bring the tray up to the second floor and only wobbles once during the entire endeavor. Carefully balancing her bounty, she knocks twice and listens for any movement behind the door. Macy frowns and knocks again, this time a little louder, straining to hear a response. 

The door swings open without warning and it’s only her propensity to completely freeze when surprised that the tray doesn’t just tumble right to the floor. 

“Harry,” Macy says, a little louder than needed. “I didn’t hear you.” The shock wears off and she narrows her eyes. “Are you… okay?”

Bruises in various stages of healing mottle Harry’s English-pale skin across his chest and upper arms, obviously continuing lower to where she couldn’t see. Macy’s eyes widen again and the tray wobbles for a completely different reason from before. 

“ _Are_ you okay?” she whispers again.

“I assure you, it looks worse than it feels,” Harry rasps, but when he winces it reduces the chances of Macy having believed him to almost zero.

“Why are you out of bed?” she cries, pushing him gently back into his bedroom.

“If you don’t recall, you _did_ just knock,” he says blandly, holding on to the door tightly to avoid an untimely meeting with the floor.

Macy grimaces. 

“When I didn’t hear anything, I thought you were either asleep or out.”

“It took me a while to get to the door,” he says, with a nonchalance that is in no way translating to his expression or body language. Harry clocks the tray in her hands as she passes him to put it on the dresser across the room, and his eyebrows rise. “What’s that for?”

“ _Who_ ,” she corrects, “and you,” Macy says, crossing to help him back to bed. 

“While I appreciate it, you needn’t worry yourself about me,” Harry says, leaning on Macy a little more than he realizes. 

Macy arranges the pillows against the headboard and eases him onto them before drawing the blanket up and around his waist. 

“Of course, I do,” she says exasperatedly. The irony of the situation isn’t lost on her, and all Macy can do is sigh at their equally stubborn nature. 

“I’ll be right back.” 

She doesn’t flee, but it’s a near thing as she dashes back down to the kitchen to retrieve a bed tray from a bottom cabinet. When Macy returns Harry is exactly where she left him, but his eyes are closed and she can see how _not fine_ he is, even if he won’t admit so. 

A couple of black kettles, indeed.

Macy busies herself with transferring most of everything onto the bed tray, and when she glances up at the mirror, she can see Harry looking at her with a strange expression on his face. 

“What?” she asks, self-consciously. 

“The last time I received breakfast in bed from you was when the Elders had stripped me of my rank and powers,” he says, and despite the frankly harrowing circumstances a small smile quirks the corners of his lips.

“If I didn’t know any better, I would think you’re remembering that fondly,” Macy says. 

“A little,” Harry admits. When Macy looks at him through the mirror expectantly, he does smile, though it is wistful. “It was when I realized how much you and your sisters actually cared about me.”

Macy stills, utterly taken aback, and turns to face him, the feeling in her stomach making her uneasy. 

“You… You had to know we cared about you before then, right?”

Harry fumbles for something to say and exhales instead. 

“I think on some level I did. More like it was something so novel and new I didn’t want to scrutinize it because if I had read too much into it and it was only the vaunted Vera-Vaughn kindness…. Well, that didn’t bear thinking about.”

Macy swallows and nods, turning back to the tray to do something with her hands. 

“And so, what changed your mind after that whole stupid thing with the Elders?” 

She transfers the teacup onto the bed tray and realizes she can’t stall any more or the tea is going to be horribly cold. She touches the side of the cup and concentrates on the feeling she gets right before she ignites her flame and the liquid within quickly warms to the point of steaming. 

Harry chuckles and lifts his arms as Macy brings the tray over. He can’t help but light up at the homemade scones and when he leans forward just a bit, he can smell the fragrance of the tea. 

“You made me scones?” he asks, eyes wide.

Macy feels her heartbeat funny in her chest as she nods. “I know we haven’t found a good place to buy them from yet,” she teases thickly. “So, I made them.”

“Thank you,” Harry says, holding her gaze gratefully. 

Macy can’t help but smile in return, taking his hand and squeezing. 

“And I didn’t forget the elderberry preserves,” she says.

“Nor the clotted cream. I’ll make a Brit of you yet, Macy Vaughn,” Harry says softly as he unfurls the napkin. “I hadn’t realized how utterly famished I was until seeing this tray.” 

Macy beams and crosses around to the other side of the bed to take a seat. 

“It’s a combination peace offering and an apology,” she admits as she watches him pry apart the quick bread and spread the cream and preserves just so, before taking a large bite. 

Harry makes an indulgent sound at the back of his throat before his head falls back onto the pillows and he swallows enthusiastically. 

“Dare I say this may be your best batch yet?” he breathes in wonder.

Macy feels inordinately pleased and she tries not to preen under the brief praise. 

“I’m just glad you like it, It wouldn’t be too much of an apology if they were inedible,” she giggles.

Harry laughs. 

“Touché,” he says. He opens his mouth to say something more, but Macy shakes her head. 

“Eat up, then talk,” she admonishes. 

Harry purses his lips but his expression is full of playfully petulant fondness as he acquiesces and quickly consumes everything on his tray, including his tea. Macy brings him the last scone from the other tray, and he eats that, too, and isn’t satisfied until he’s consumed a second cup of tea. 

“Oh, that was just divine, Macy, thank you,” he says as he reclines against the pillows propped behind him.

Macy resists the urge to cup his cheek at how appreciative he seems, and just manages to keep her hand down from touching him. 

“It was my pleasure,” she says genuinely. “Now you can finish telling me what you meant by you were only sure we loved you after you’d been turned into an old man by the Elders.”

Harry’s eyes twinkle. 

“Maybe if you tell me what you meant by all this was a peace offering and an apology?”

Macy turns and pretends to wince. 

“You remember that, huh,” she mutters playfully.

“I did,” Harry says. 

Macy’s smile fades and she takes a deep breath. 

“It’s been a while since someone’s cared about me or worried about me consistently. It’s… hard to remember sometimes even when I'm around you, Mel and Maggie every day.” 

She looks at the dark blue duvet on Harry’s bed rather than his face or anywhere else and after a moment Harry’s hand slides across to grasp hers, holding it tightly. 

“And we’ll be here until it sinks in, we’re not going anywhere,” he says softly. 

Macy watches a bruise on his wrist fade completely from view. She blinks and when she glances up, eyes wide, he follows her gaze back to his wrist and his smile turns bashful. 

“Did you see that?” she asks.

Harry squeezes her hand again in response. 

“My healing tends to require less time when my body is properly fueled,” he admits.

“Of course,” Macy breathes, staring into the middle distance. “You need energy and you can’t just _create_ it, that would be ridiculous,” she laughs a shade hysterically like she does when unraveling a scientific conundrum. “And you were stuck in a magical catch-22 as it were, weren’t you?” she asks, turning her gaze back on him.

Harry flinches. 

“Ah, yes,” he admits. “I didn’t have the energy to drag myself downstairs to get anything to eat and without it, my healing was far less efficient than normal.”

Macy frowns. 

“What else impacts your healing? Your personal healing,” she specifies. 

Harry looks reluctant. 

“Exhaustion, as you well know,” he says, and she nods. “Lack of fuel and… and sometimes my emotional state.”

Macy tightens her grasp on Harry when he tries to drop her hand. 

“And I made everything hard for you last night, didn’t I?”

Harry ceases his half-hearted attempts to let Macy go and just nods. 

“I came back to my room, but I couldn’t sleep,” he says. 

Pain prickles in Macy’s chest. 

“Why?” she murmurs.

Harry looks at her sharply. 

“I couldn’t calm my mind. I kept finding myself back in that horrible moment of pushing back the bath curtain to see you submerged and not breathing.”

It’s Macy who drops his hand, staring down at the duvet again. 

“I didn’t know,” she says lowly.

“And that’s supposed to make it better?” Harry asks.

Macy snapped up at the bite in his words. 

“I’m not a medical doctor,” she retorts.

“I am well aware,” he says. “And while I am not either, my healing magic is also a diagnostic tool in my arsenal. I don’t have to know what is wrong in order to heal it. Macy, do you know how close you came to death? Even if you hadn’t been in the tub when you slipped into unconsciousness it would not have made a difference. Even worse, you could’ve hit your head before you said my name and you would have died, alone, on the bathroom floor.”

Macy looks away at the force of his conviction, swallowing against the illogical fear of an event that has already passed. She licks her lips and tries to calm down. Before she can formulate a response, Harry carries on.

“Imagine one of your sisters finding you in that manner. Cold to the touch, having passed while they slumbered in their beds, just not long ago being convinced that you were fine and just needed rest. Don’t you know what that would do to them? To me?” he whispers. 

“No,” she admits, and dares a peek at Harry’s expression. “Don’t pity me,” she groans, turning away fully. “I don’t need your pity.”

“It wasn’t pity you saw,” Harry says. “I _don’t_ pity you. I am angry that life has shown you that you don’t matter. I’m upset because I don’t know how to make you see yourself differently and, if I’m to be frank, it scares me.”

Macy tries not to tense. 

“I’m not suicidal,” she says.

“Are you sure?”

At that Macy whirls around incredulously. 

“You’re one to talk,” she says, pointing a finger and jabbing it in his direction. “Do you even know the meaning of defense? You just jump in front of anything coming our way and you use your body like some sort of… expendable thing,” she sputters. 

Harry closes his eyes and visibly calms himself. 

“It seems we _both_ have some conditioning to break from,” he says.

Macy works her jaw back and forth as she finds she can’t really poke holes in his proposed logic. 

“Maybe so,” she relents. 

“Can you promise me after a mission goes wrong you speak up when we all explore what kind of injuries we have?” Harry asks. “I don’t care if it feels like a paper cut, I’d - _we’d_ like to know,” he says, including her sisters into it.

“Since I can’t seem to feel the difference between a moderate concussion and a bleed, that sounds fair,” Macy admits reluctantly. 

Harry closes his eyes and swallows, reaching for Macy’s hand again, only relaxing when he feels her skin, warm and alive. 

“And maybe you can stop treating your body so nonchalantly in battle?” she asks.

Harry opens his eyes. 

“You _do_ understand I’m immortal,” he says softly. “I would much rather take the hit that would kill you but would only momentarily phase me.”

“Yes, your _body_ is immortal, as far as we know – and even if it is, what about your mind?” Macy closes her eyes and wrestles her emotions back under control. “This isn’t – I didn’t come here to argue. I came to apologize and to tell you I’ll try my best not to hide my injuries again.” She glances down at the tray on his lap. “Did you need anything else?”

Harry stares back at her, face inscrutable. 

“No,” he responds after a moment. “Thank you.”

Macy offers some semblance of a nod as she ducks her head and quickly rises to her feet. In less than two minutes she’s gone from his room, the door closing softly behind her. 

Harry manages to hold his breath until he can’t hear her footfalls any longer and releases the shaky breath he’d been holding. _She won’t do it again_ , he thinks. He holds onto that thought like a lifeline and wipes the tears from his eyes with the heels of his hands as breathing grows easier as the seconds tick by. 

Eventually, he calms enough to acknowledge the creep of exhaustion as it floods his still-healing body and rearranges the pillows so he can try to sleep. Harry’s almost certain when he wakes next his body will be completely healed, but somehow, he knows it won’t help the ache in his chest. 

He supposes he now understands the phrase _lovesick_.

~*~

“I’m not hiding,” Macy says, her hand on her doorknob. She’s frozen outside her bedroom like she’s guilty of something and that sensation adds more petulance to her tone than she intends.

Harry raises his hands but he’s not smiling. 

“I didn’t say you were,” he says carefully. 

“But you’re following me,” she points out.

He pauses but then nods. “I guess I was.” 

“I’m not hiding,” Macy says again. “I just wanted to change my shirt so you can see the wound better.”

“And you’re sure it's just it’s just the back of your shoulder?” Harry asks, stepping closer to look at the wound through the tear in Macy’s blouse. 

“Yes, Harry,” Macy says heavily. “How is everyone else?”

Harry’s gaze turns rueful. 

“It seems you were the only one with any substantial injuries. Mel said she just needed to sleep everything off and Maggie’s cheek is as good as new,” he says with a short bow that has Macy smiling despite herself. 

“Fine. Give me ten minutes,” she says.

Harry looks at her. 

“You have seven,” he counters, a smile tugging at his lips when she sputters. 

“Fine,” she repeats, and ducks into her room to close the door. The only reason why Macy hadn’t pushed back is that she still feels the embarrassment-tinged guilt bubble up, and the look in Harry’s eye had been… He had been scared, and she was the one who put that look in his eye.

If it meant subjecting herself to some unnecessary healing, then… fine.

Macy tries to move quickly but her shoulder is locking up and it takes almost all the time she’s allotted to get into a soft and thin peach-colored sleep shirt and a pair of grey leggings. It’s in the middle of the afternoon but her body is screaming for sleep.

As soon as she sits on her bed there’s a knock at her door and Harry’s pushing it open slowly as he announces his presence. 

Macy frowns. 

“I don’t get to give permission for you to enter my bedroom?”

Harry’s expression is only half-apologetic. 

“I needed to make sure you hadn’t collapsed,” he murmurs, and Macy feels like the worst sort of person. 

Contrite, she gestures for him to come in fully. 

“Please,” she says. “How do you want me?”

“Is it really just your shoulder?” Harry asks. 

Macy sighs inwardly, but with her good arm, she begins to try to pull her shirt up her back. Harry quickly crosses the distance between them and stays her hand. 

“Please. Let me,” he says, and Macy doesn’t really have a choice, but she nods and leans forward, slouching so her elbows rest on the tops of her thighs. 

Harry crawls on top of her bed to situate himself better before he begins to lift her shirt up and off her back as gently as he can. There’s plenty of bruising – that is to be expected after a surprise ambush of Kylon – but he finds the worrisome wound and runs his hand across it slowly, feeling no small measure of satisfaction as it disappears, as if it never was.

Macy slumps forward, even more, the curve of her spine evident beneath her skin as she moves gingerly. 

“Oh,” she says with a blissed-out groan. 

Harry stares at her back, at the mottling of contusions, and for a split second, he’s back to that night a few weeks earlier when he had to force the water from Macy’s lungs and knit part of her brain back together. Impulsively he presses both hands on either side of her back and imagines filling her to the brim with his healing magic, leaning no part of her untouched. 

Macy gasps aloud, the energy flowing through her makes her sit straight up as it draws her body taut. It settles on, against, _through_ her skin and it feels… It feels like how a clear day feels in winter when the air is so still everything takes on an unreal clarity and vigor hums just beneath the façade of everything.

Her body responds by tightening in some areas while others grow wet and swollen, but everything feels better than good and suddenly it stops, but the warming sensation does not dissipate. Macy falls back and lands against Harry’s chest as he continues to hold her while she attempts to recover.

Recover? Is that the right word? How can it be when it’s… still… happening?

“What is that?” she whines softly, her left hand clutching her duvet tightly. Her right is tightly clenched in a fist she doesn’t dare loosen for fear of where it may stray.

“I just wanted to be thorough in healing you,” he says as if that explains everything.

It explains _nothing_.

 _Holy fuck_ , Macy thinks, shuddering almost audibly when she squeezes her thighs together briefly.

Macy wants to shove her hand down her panties to bring on what she _knows_ will be the best type of toe-curling orgasm. She wants to take off all her clothes and let Harry put his hands wherever he wants.

“Macy?”

Harry can feel the tension she’s holding in her body and wonders at it. When he moves his hands, he feels the shudder roll through her body and her face tips back so he can see her – oh.

 _Oh_.

The expression on her face is one he’s only ever seen in his dreams – of one on the precipice of ecstasy. He knows he shouldn’t, but he unfurls another tendril of magic and immediately Macy reacts, her back bowing as she cries out softly. 

He gasps when she grabs his knee. He can feel the heat of her through the material of his pants and in near desperation he presses his mouth against her temple in as close to a kiss as he’ll allow himself even as he imagines her hand going higher. 

With rapt fascination Harry watches Macy’s legs shift against each other undoubtedly so she can bring some friction to bear – he wants to part her thighs and place his hand there. With the trembling he feels, he knows it wouldn’t take much.

If he continues to tease her, will she scream his name?

As gently but as quickly as he can, Harry removes his hands from Macy’s body, immediately missing the warmth as he slides off her bed and attempts to will away his erection. It would help if he wasn’t looking at the source of his desire, but he cannot turn away. Macy fell backward in the vacuum of his hasty retreat, landing in such a manner that Harry wants to climb over her body and in every sense of the word, just _sink_ into her.

Harry greedily gorges himself on the vision before him; Macy’s wide, dark eyes staring up at him, _beckoning_ him closer, her full lips parted in a silent plea. Is he imagining this? She looks as if she wants him.

And he is beyond the point of _merely_ needing her.

Harry wants to get back onto her bed and grind his clothed erection against her apex until he feels her soak through her leggings. He wants to nip and bite down the elegant column of Macy’s throat and luxuriate in the taste of her skin while he gently thumbs the mouthwateringly turgid peaks atop the soft swell of her bosom through the maddeningly thin shirt she chose to wear. Harry must swallow against the overproduction of saliva – he can feel the cotton against his tongue as if he’s already taken a tightened bud into his mouth and sucked hard through the material draped across her chest. 

“It seems everything is in order,” he says, straining to maintain some semblance of control as he watches Macy’s right hand stray higher up her thigh. “I shall take my leave.”

Macy can only nod, she’ll be mortified later. Right now, her whole body feels inflamed, and when her bedroom door closes behind Harry, Macy throws off her tee-shirt and falls back to the cool comforter, running her hands down her throat and across her chest, feeling a jolt of desire at every brush of her palm against her nipples. 

Impatiently, Macy pushes her leggings down just enough to expose her sex, but she realizes it’s not enough and peels them off all the way. She closes her eyes and parts her thighs, all the while imagining it’s Harry pushing them apart so he can settle against her core. It’s Harry’s fingers instead of her own that causes her to cry out when they slide through her aching folds, plump and heavy with _want_.

It takes literally two grazes against Macy’s clit for her body to light up like a night on the fourth of July. She presses against the bundle of nerves and her hips buck on their own accord, chasing the pleasure as it crests, radiating throughout her body.

When she comes down Macy’s throat feels raw, like she’s been screaming. Thankfully, she knows her sisters had gone to man the witch board so she could recuperate and get some rest. Macy continues to stare at the ceiling as she gets her breathing under control, the euphoria of her release dispersing under a sharp pang of loneliness. She glances at her door, and wonders if there’s a world where Harry doesn’t leave, and instead he’s spooned up behind her, both satiated and spent. 

_That world exists just in your imagination_ , Macy thinks, and with a groan rolls off her bed to pad nakedly to her ensuite. A shower and a good nap would set her to rights. As much as a part of her may want Harry with her, now, she’s grateful that no matter where he was – be it downstairs, his room, or the attic, there’s no way he could’ve heard her.

~*~

Harry considers himself safe as soon as the bedroom door clicks shut behind him. The nervous energy that threatens his control isn’t going to cause him to cross any lines that shouldn’t be crossed, and he leans his forehead against the cool wood of the door hoping it will douse the heat within his skin. 

Instead, he hears the startled sound of Macy’s desire and immediately his brain conjures movement to match the cadence of her utterance. She will start with a gentle touch – he imagines her elegant hands sliding beneath her shirt, caressing the flat plane of her abdomen and moving up higher to cup her breasts and tease at the hardened peaks. 

Harry closes his eyes and palms the front of his pants, pressing the heel of his hand against the thick column of flesh between his legs. The pressure coaxes a small noise from him, but he’s not worried about being caught – the other sisters are dutifully manning the witch board while he practically masturbates outside their eldest sister’s room.

That thought should’ve sunk his desire, and it _would’ve_ , but hearing Macy cry out in the throes of ecstasy proves more potent than his self-flagellation because he’s harder than he was before, and it takes considerable effort for him to take his hand off Macy’s doorknob.

As he stalks back to his room he allows himself to imagine a world where he had the courage to flip Macy onto her back and peel her leggings from her body and tease the pads of his fingers against the crotch of her panties, soaking the fabric as he riles her up.

Harry closes the door to his bedroom behind him, back against the door as he frees himself from his pants and closes a tight fist around his aching, already leaking member. He shudders, imagination going wild as he pictures Macy beneath him as he slides in and out of her, her head thrown back as her nails scratch his back and her thighs clench his hips tightly. His hand moves in time with the thrusts of his fantastical self, toes curling and harsh breathing as his skin grows hot.

He imagines grabbing Macy’s hip and pulling her against him even as he plunges forward and when she looks him in the eyes she groans his name like a prayer, and immediately Harry’s coming all over his hand, moaning hotly as the release lances through his body like lightning. 

It takes a moment to come back to himself, and when he does, he rather wishes he hadn’t. 

“Are you some teenager again?” Harry mutters to himself as he grabs one of his handkerchiefs from his dresser and cleans his hand and some of the floor before angrily chucking it into the hamper. 

Suddenly his anger is replaced with bone-deep exhaustion and Harry remembers he’s not due back to the command center until that evening. _I’ll have to do something particularly nice for Mel and Maggie_ , he thinks as he strips out of his clothes completely and clad only in his boxers, falls onto his bed and lets the non-judgmental darkness take him away.


	2. Boiling Point

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Macy and Harry are adults, and talk about their feelings. Just kidding. More avoidance from the both of them, until they're forced to confront what's growing between them in an unconvential way.

This is some bullshit, Macy reflects.

DJ Khaled is congratulating her in her head. What had she been thinking?

What she had thought when Harry offered to spar with her was that she’d get to work off some of the underlying aggression she’d felt between them. She’s wearing some of her more risqué workout gear that bares more skin than her norm with – if she’s going to be honest with herself – the spiteful intent to fluster the Whitelighter.

What Macy hadn’t expected was Harry being serious about sparing. Nor did she expect to have her ass handed almost handed to her _or_ for Harry to strip off his shirt about twenty minutes into the session.

“Macy?”

Has she been staring?

Harry’s expression morphs into one of amusement. “Yes, you were,” he says dryly, holding his fighting form lightly.

Fuck, she said that aloud?

“Um, you’ve been working out?” Macy asks, forcing herself to rotate her shoulders and look away.

“A little,” Harry says.

Macy nods. “Nice definition,” she admits before bringing her gloves up.

Gone is most of what little softness had clung to Harry’s frame; since their move to Seattle they’d had less indulgent breakfasts and most meals were quickly snatched as they moved back and forth between the manor, Safe Space, and the command center.

Macy may be a _tad_ distracted by the way Harry _gleams_ under the lights of the command center. Must be, because she walks right into a jab. It catches her awkwardly across the shoulder when she attempts to move away at the last possible second. This makes the third time she hits the mat beneath them and she’s grateful for Harry’s foresight to borrow it from Jordan’s gym.

“Are you alright?” Immediately, Harry rushes forward, concern in his eyes.

“Fine,” Macy pants out. When she goes to rise, she feels something shift wrong in her thigh. Suddenly it’s on _fire_ and she’s falling onto her back with a cry.

It’s like a charley horse but a million times worse. She flips over onto her stomach searching for some position that will alleviate the pain and screams weakly when nothing works. 

“Macy, what’s wrong?”

She hears Harry but he sounds dim when juxtaposed against the agony she’s feeling. Macy slaps the mat and cries out again. “My thigh,” she grits her teeth and cries out again when she tries to move her leg.

“Please, stop moving and let me heal you,” Harry says and Macy’s eyes shoot open.

“No,” she shouts and immediately closes her eyes against the mortification. “I mean, I don’t think that’s necessary. It’s just a cramp.”

“…Are you certain?”

“Positive.”

All she needs to be able to do is hobble home and soak in the tub for a while until she can stretch without screaming. Shakily she inhales and attempts to move to her hands and knees and immediately her body voices its dissent, landing her on her side with tears in her eyes.

~*~

Harry is done.

As soon as Macy comes through the command center door clad in a thin, form fitting jacket and the tiniest of skin-tight shorts, Harry has a sneaking suspicion he may be in well over his head. She turns, strips off the jacket and reveals a startling amount of skin courtesy of a midriff-baring tank top composed of what looks like bands artfully arranged around her chest, with a zipper in the front.

He’s in hell. Or back in Tartarus. Either way, the torture is real.

Harry _had_ a plan in mind and moves he’d wanted to go over, but with the combination of the suddenly impossible to ignore sexual charge between them and seeing so much skin on display, nothing goes to plan and they end up tussling more than sparring. They do little more than take their frustrations out on each other.

Quite quickly it becomes overly warm and since they’re both adults Harry takes off his shirt. He feels no small bit of pride when he watches Macy’s eyes go wide and her jaw slacken – two can play at whatever game has her convinced that wearing a push-up bra to a sparring session was sporting behavior.

He goes on the offensive, inwardly gloating as he notices her lack of focus, but immediately feels guilty when she almost walks right into a blow that lands her on the mat and crying.

He should’ve rescheduled.

“Macy, even if it’s just a cramp, I can help,” he says as he kneels beside her. “You’re obviously in pain and it makes no sense for you to be.”

Macy grits her teeth and sighs.

“Look, I know it’s been… strange when I heal you, but it doesn’t mean it will be this time. It’s a relatively small location so it shouldn’t be nearly as invasive,” Harry suggests.

In her pain-addled mind, it must make sense to Macy as she nods curtly. “Okay. Please, it hurts,” she admits.

Harry’s shoulders sag momentarily; he’d been steeled to fight her for longer but he’s thankful to have it cut short. “May I touch you?”

Macy nods and turns onto her back; she hisses when his hand touches her thigh. Harry settles himself between her legs with a sympathetic wince; he truly does hate when she’s in pain. Gently, he places his hand flat on her thigh and concentrates. It’s more than just a cramp, the innate sense in his healing ability tells him it’s a pulled muscle; no wonder she’s in tears.

Harry pushes his magic into the injury and watches Macy’s face as he slowly eases his hand up her thigh along the length of the muscle. It’s like someone cut her strings – she breathes deep and releases an exhale of relief.

“Oh my god,” Macy groans lowly, and Harry flashes back to the incident on the bed. On _Macy’s_ bed. Wondering if the same thing will happen again, he pours more magic into his touch where his hand rests on the inside of her satin thighs.

_Think about literally anything else_ , Harry tells himself, but when Macy whimpers it’s not one of pain, and he swallows hard when she moves her hips restlessly. He knows she’s healed. He knows he should let her go.

Harry can feel the heat of her through the thin material of her shorts and his self-control frays when Macy’s thighs widen more. He swallows twice before his voice works. “I’m going to have to go further up,” he says. “I want to make sure you’re fully healed.”

It sounds fake, even to him.

Macy nods a little too quickly. “Okay,” she whispers. “It would… probably be best if you continue skin-to-skin, right?”

Harry can barely resist the urge to rut against her leg that he’s manhandling. “Yes,” he says, sounding strangled and hot all over. He swallows again, briefly wondering if this is a dream before the tips of his fingers slip up past the hem of Macy’s shorts. It’s just scant inches until Harry’s digits begin to slide against Macy’s skin and he holds his breath as he realizes she’s not wearing underwear.

“Oh, bloody hell,” he whispers, adjusting Macy’s leg so her calf rests against his shoulder. He wraps his hand around it and plunges two of his fingers down and against her. Harry can feel her soaking through the material before he gently rubs the pads of his questing fingers against the hot, swollen flesh the shorts keep him from being able to see.

Harry feels drunk, mad, and like he’s about to burst from his skin when Macy throws her head back with a gasp. She’s so wet he can drag his fingers through the gathering moisture and suddenly he’s parched. “I think we should be very sure you’re healed,” he barely gets out. “I… should see the area. To be sure the muscle is fully healed.”

“Visual confirmation _would_ be best, right?” Macy says breathlessly.

Harry’s heart stops. Whatever he expects her to say, it isn’t that. The voice in the back of his head is screaming at him to back down, that this isn’t right and can’t continue.

“Best way, really,” he says with a nod.

Bloody hell, he had truly meant to say the exact opposite. But his hands are on Macy’s waistband and Harry’s baser instincts win out. He peels the tiny shorts down the swell of her hips, eyes widening when Macy shifts her hips in efforts to help him. Harry knew she wasn’t wearing underwear, but to _see_ it leaves him reeling.

He gets the tiny shorts down past her thighs and Macy bends her knees to get them off her completely. When he manages to pull the scrap of fabric free Macy’s legs fall open, and she makes no move to close them.

“Does this make it easier?” she asks quietly. The dumbstruck look on his face makes her spread her legs wider, biting her lip at the thrill of Harry’s eyes on her. It makes her want to touch herself in front of him just to see what he’ll do, hoping he’ll do _something_ , anything, to scratch her itch.

Harry swallows audibly. “Easier?”

“To see.” Macy lets her hand fall against her upper thigh. What is she doing? Why isn’t she closing her damn legs and running away?

He nods. “But I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to get closer.”

“Yes, come closer,” she breathes, trembling as Harry moves between her legs, not taking his eyes off her sex.

Harry spreads Macy’s legs further and with a low, indulgent groan descends upon her swollen folds, parting her with his tongue to lap at the gathering moisture before he flicks his tongue against her clitoris. When he sucks the bundle of nerves into his mouth Macy rears up, practically curling around his head as she cries out and buries her fingers in his hair and begins tugging.

The rough treatment spurs Harry on almost as much as the taste of her and he plunges his tongue as deeply as he can, moaning loudly at the thought of sinking his cock inside her. He pins Macy’s hips to the mat and has a wicked idea.

“Harry,” she wails and falls back to the mat, her thighs trembling on his shoulders. “ _Please_ …” Macy feels crazed and her whole body is a live wire. She’s completely immobilized by Harry’s deceptively strong hands and eventually she’ll have to come to terms with the fact that she might have a thing about being held down.

Macy struggles to prop herself on her elbows and looks down her torso as Harry lifts his head to breathe. She whimpers; the lower half of his face is drenched in her juices, his mouth and chin slick and shiny. He gets a wicked gleam in his eye and takes a deep breath before he moves in again, flattening his tongue against her clitoris and sliding two fingers inside. He moves the pads of his fingers against her silken walls and when Harry hears Macy call out, he pours his magic through his fingers.

Macy throws her head back and gasps - the entire world whites out until there is nothing to see and nothing to hear. Her body scatters like atoms achieving entropy and she knows no more. Eventually Macy comes back to her body in a hazy cloud of pleasure. Gentle sparks are running up and down her muscles and she feels weightless, like she’s spinning free and without fear through the universe. When Macy opens her eyes she smiles and tugs Harry up until he’s close enough for her to feel his breath on exhale. She smiles at him dazedly, luxuriating in the way her body feels. “Wow,” she croaks, her voice surprisingly hoarse. “That was… _amazing_.”

Harry stares at her like she’s something precious. “Indeed,” he breathes. He moves slowly, telegraphing his intent in case she wants to stop him, but Macy just gently rubs her nose against his, and a second later their lips meet. Harry feels consumed with a frenzy of desire so great it’s akin to static in his mind, shorting out every thought that isn’t of Macy. He shifts his hips, finally grinding his hardness against her. She trembles in his arms and Harry does it again, rapt as Macy breaks the kiss to cry out.

“I need – I need - ” Macy babbles as she grabs at the waistband of his pants and begins tugging them down. They can’t separate enough to do more than free Harry from the confines of his underwear, but once clear of the offensive material, immediately his member lay against her folds, and he can’t help the way his hips buck against her, dragging his length through the abundant moisture gathering.

Macy has her hands on his ass and before Harry can at least _try_ to move slowly, the tip of his cock aligns like it was preordained and he slides in more than halfway with one thrust. “ _Fuck_ ,” he cries out, eyes closed. Harry’s doing his best to remain as still as he can. He wishes he could say it was solely so Macy can adjust to him, but in all honesty, he is going to come right then and there if he doesn’t get a hold of himself.

But Macy gives new meaning to _fits like a glove_ , and his body is desperate for him to sink in even more as he struggles to acclimate. “Macy, love, are you alright?” he breathes and she shudders again, eyes still closed as her throat works furiously.

She nods. “Yeah,” she pants. “Oh god, you’re not all the way in, are you?”

Harry drops his face against Macy’s neck and concentrates on keeping his hips still. “No,” he admits. “I’ll go - _bloody hell_ ,” he groans when she tightens around him. Harry’s hips snap forward, and it feels like heaven. “Macy, _love_ ,” he pleads, running his hands down her thighs to grab his fill of her glorious backside.

Macy has her hands in his hair now and with every tug he moves his hips. The stretch of her body is a strange, yet deeply satisfying sensation; like scratching a deep itch. But as good as it feels, she _needs_ Harry to move faster. She knows it’s better for him to go slowly - at least at first, however, her body fails to agree. Macy’s hips move just a little - _completely involuntarily, mind_ \- and she can’t help but tighten around the steel pipe inside of her. With a shout and shudder from Harry, he slides home to the hilt inside her.

“ _Fuck, yes_!” she cries triumphantly, collapsing into giggles when Harry begins to shake with laughter against her. “You laugh, but I was beginning to wonder if you were going to fit,” Macy retorts breathlessly.

“Any more of that and I’ll get a big head,” Harry warns before pressing feather-light kisses along her neck and jaw.

“Then you _really_ won’t fit,” she laughs again when he groans and shakes his head. Macy goes to say something else, but Harry puts that mouth against that spot on her neck that sends a shiver down her spine and makes her nipples tighten. The energy between them becomes charged again and Harry begins with short, shallow thrusts that have Macy crying out softly.

“I am trying to go slow,” he says, strain turning his voice breathless.

“Don’t,” Macy says. “Don’t go slow.”

Harry lifts his head to look at her incredulously. “Love – ”

Macy squeezes as hard as she can around him and she’d laugh at how Harry’s eyes widen so much they look as if they were going to fall out, but he thrusts forward hard and deep and what comes out of her mouth is most certainly _not_ a laugh.

This isn’t going to be a long, drawn out session. The pace Harry sets is ambitious and toe-curling and Macy never wants him to stop. He feels so good she’s practically crying as she holds on tight, unwilling to have even an inch between them.

“Macy, _oh god_ , you feel so good,” he groans, barely loud enough to be heard over the sound of him pushing deeply into her body. “ _So tight_ ,” he bites out, almost in despair. Harry tries to slow down, does everything in his power to prolong the exquisite sensation of Macy’s body clinging to his member but _wet_ – _warm_ – _tight_ … He can’t – _he can’t_ -

Against Harry’s ear Macy releases a sound so erotic it goes straight to his balls and what little control he’s managed to hold on to practically _evaporates_. Now merely a passenger in his own body, he ruts into her, helpless in the wake of an orgasm stronger than he’d ever experienced before.

Eventually his vision returns, and he collapses face first on Macy’s chest, trying to remember how to breathe, fighting a losing battle against the rising embarrassment.

It takes a second for Macy’s body to re-sync and a second more to sense Harry’s discomfort. “What’s wrong?” she asks, shifting so he’d lift his face. It takes a moment, but Harry finally shows his face from where he had it pressed against the side of her top. “Hey,” she murmurs.

“I’m sorry,” he says, still unable to look Macy in the eye.

Macy frowns. “…What for?”

“My… performance, or rather lack thereof,” Harry mutters. “I assure you, I normally – ”

“Harry,” Macy interrupts flatly. “Are you really apologizing for giving me an orgasm so strong I passed out? Is _that_ what I’m hearing?”

The tips of Harry’s ears redden and he returns his face to rest against her breastbone. “I had _plans_ ,” he says. “I felt you come on my fingers, so I wanted to feel that on my cock.”

Macy shivers, the brief mental image affecting her greatly. “There will be other times,” she says, her eyes widening when Harry’s face snaps up to look at her, and Macy realizes what she’s said. “I mean,” she babbles, “if you want.”

“Absolutely,” Harry replies eagerly. “I mean,” he says, attempting nonchalance. “That is something I want, too.”

Macy smiles. “Good.”

He hesitates before gently withdrawing from her body, obviously still chagrined as he sprawls on his side with every bit of exposed skin touching hers. “I wish to reassure you our… next encounter should be much more satisfactory.”

“I look forward to it,” she murmurs.

Harry drops a kiss to her bare shoulder. “I would just like to say – ”

Macy releases a huff of faint annoyance. “Harry, if you try to apologize again, you’ll _really_ be sorry,” she laughs, rolling her eyes at his expression.

Harry takes a deep breath, suddenly aware of how close he sounds to whining. “It’s simply that I had an idea how our first time together would be, if I were ever to be so lucky,” Harry says, falling onto his back. “It would be rigorous, and satisfying and you were going to scream my name at least thrice–”

It’s Macy’s turn to shift onto her side so she’s looking down at Harry. “ _Three_ times?” she asks, nearly shaking as she holds back incredulous laughter.

“Yes, _three times_.”

“Harry.” She shakes her head and wonders how this man before her can look adorable even while pouting. “Just think of it as something we can plan for next time.” Harry sighs and perks up sheepishly. “Besides, if you really want to apologize for something, apologize for leaving me the last time you _healed_ me.”

Harry’s mouth drops open and he closes it immediately, looking even more embarrassed, if possible. He immediately recalls the sounds she made on the other side of the door between them and his shameful reaction to them. Before he can fall into _that_ particular well of shame, curiosity takes hold.

“What does it feel like?” he asks.

At that question Macy falls onto her back to avoid looking at Harry. “Tingly,” she mutters, her own face growing hot.

“Tingly,” Harry repeats. “That’s all?”

Macy squirms. “I wanted to ask you – no, I wanted to _demand_ you stay and help me with… how you made my body feel,” she says, evading at the last moment. When she finally works up the courage to look, Harry’s grin has an almost avaricious glint to it.

“Tell me,” he breathes. Macy looks at him skeptically. “Go on, close your eyes and tell me.”

She huffs and rolls her eyes but does as he asks and closes them. After a moment her breathing changes. When Macy subtly presses her thighs together Harry swallows around a mouth full of cotton. Enraptured, Harry marvels at how her body responds even to the _memory_ of his healing magic.

“What did it feel like?” he asks, returning to his elbow so he can watch her better. On a whim, Harry moves closer and smooths a bit of hair at her temple, smiling at her small shiver even as his heart leaps at the way she leans into his touch.

Macy hums. “Like you poured something inside me. It wasn’t cold, but it felt like it _should_ have been cold. It settles through my skin, into my muscles, and down deep into my bones. It makes me feel healthy and like I could do anything. But then…” She bites her lip, stifling a groan as she plays with her top’s closure.

“Then what, love?” Harry whispers, pressing his burgeoning erection against her bare hip. He plucks the zipper from her fingers and finally allows himself to openly appreciate the tightly bound charms hidden by her sports top. Macy’s nipples are prominent as they harden and Harry’s mouth waters with the desire to put his mouth on her through the rayon.

“My nerves start to tingle, and everything starts to feel… tight and full.” With her eyes still closed everything feels heightened and she startles briefly but forces herself not to move when Harry begins to slowly lower the zipper of her top, acutely aware of his eyes on her as more of her skin is revealed. Macy tries to concentrate on what she had felt that day but her body is more interested in what’s going on right now. Her top falls open and she can’t help but feel a rush of pride at the sound of shaken breathing.

Harry fights to maintain a tight grip on his control, utterly intoxicated by the woman before him. “Where did you feel me?” he asks.

Macy swallows then throws an arm over her eyes, embarrassed. “All over,” she mutters.

“Everywhere? All at once?”

She can hear the knowing incredulity in Harry’s tone and tries to grab some courage. “No,” she admits. Keeping her eyes closed, Macy decides to show him instead. “Here,” she says, running her hands down the sides of her neck. Macy slides further down and skims her nipples with the flat of her palms. “And here,” she groans, her back arching. It feels so good she plucks at them again. The sensation goes straight to her clit and Macy softly whines with the need for pressure, squeezing her thighs tightly as she squirms.

Harry’s control snaps and he gently moves Macy’s hands away so he can substitute his mouth for her fingers, shuddering when she cries out. She yanks his hair hard with one hand while holding him close with the other. He moves between her thighs, Macy’s legs falling open for him at the barest of touches while he switches his attention to her other breast. When he presses against her core she practically sighs in relief.

“Oh, god, I wanted this,” she babbles, tightening her legs around Harry’s waist. He does something with his tongue and Macy swears, just as riled up now as she was then. “I felt your energy throbbing deep inside of me like I wanted you. _Oh, fuck_ , Harry,” she pants, realizing he’s returned to full tumescence as he rolls his hips against her.

Harry releases her breast and does it again, moaning loudly at the sensation of both of their fluids soaking through the front of his pants. He scrambles a hand down Macy’s body, desperate to feel the evidence of their lovemaking on her body. Greedily, he watches her choke off a sob, throwing her head back and keening when Harry gently sinks two fingers in deeply. It’s all so slippery but the flesh is engorged and nearly clings to his digits as he moves them in and out of her.

“I could hear you through the door,” Harry professes, dropping his head against the sweet curve of Macy’s neck. “I _had_ to leave, because if I hadn’t, I would’ve asked you to sit on my face.”

“Oh my god,” Macy groans. Harry begins pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses up her neck and she tilts her head to give him better access. She hollers Harry’s name when his questing digits rub across that spot inside that immediately dials everything up to eleven.

“And after you came in my mouth,” Harry murmurs against her ear, “I would ask to watch you come on my hand whilst I did _this_.” When Harry has two of his fingers pressing against Macy’s spot and a thumb resting against her clit, he pours his energy into her, and the effect is as explosive as it is instantaneous. 

Macy’s whole body seizes as the force of her orgasm slams through her. Shouting and thrashing, she bears down on his fingers so hard he’s ejected from her body. Macy’s scream is inaudible, and she can’t control her movements as her muscles short circuit. The sensation skirts the line of pleasure and pain and it _doesn’t seem to stop_.

Macy returns to her body, dry-mouthed and trembling. “Oh my god,” she mutters, laughing shallowly at the way her body feels stuffed full of cool, tingling light. When she opens her eyes – the eyes she doesn’t remember _closing_ – Macy realizes she’s staring at the other side of the command center, having twisted away from Harry involuntarily. It takes two tries, but she’s finally able to turn onto her back.

Harry’s face and neck are flushed red and he looks wrecked, his eyes full of such _heat_ Macy shivers as if cold. “What?” she asks, self-consciously.

“I do believe that was the sexiest thing I’ve ever had the honor to personally witness,” he breathes.

“Well you _did_ have a hand in it,” Macy says.

Harry’s eyes widen as she freezes, and he struggles for nearly a full second before bursting into laughter. Macy closes her eyes and when she tries to roll away, he catches her arm to pull her close.

“Stop laughing at me,” she mutters, chuckling herself.

“I’m not laughing at you, my darling,” he swears, fondly.

“Oh, you weren’t?” Macy’s eyebrow rises with skepticism.

“No,” Harry leans down and presses a kiss to the top of her shoulder. “Quite the opposite. I was merely thinking,” he whispers against her skin before pressing another closer to her neck.

Absently, Macy tilts her head to give him greater access. “Thinking? Thinking of what?” She shivers when Harry reaches a sensitive spot on her neck and in spite of the fact that she’d _just_ experienced two of the best orgasms of her relatively inexperienced life, Macy feels her body making the very convincing appeal for another. Harry’s hand lands on her hip and she yelps when he yanks her closer.

“I was thinking, as soon as you let me, I’d like to make you come that hard again,” he rumbles low in her ear.

Macy rubs against the thick column of flesh at her hip. “That depends on you, Harry. Though it seems you’re ready to try.” She turns her hand to palm him through his pants and she can’t help but grin at his full body shudder.

He grabs her hand and moves it away. “Enough of that,” he rasps. “When I come again, I plan to be inside of you.”

Macy swallows at the promise in his eyes. “Okay,” she breathes. “How do you want me? On my knees? I can –”

Harry cuts her off with a kiss, desperate to keep himself from spreading her already sticky thighs and burying himself to the hilt in one stroke. The kiss turns filthy, and Harry can’t help his roaming hands, caressing all of Macy’s golden-brown skin he can reach. When he fills his hands with the gentle swells of her bosom, she moans into his mouth and Harry scrabbles away, both breathing heavily and staring at each other.

He closes his eyes and shakes his head. “If I look at you right now, I’m going to crawl back over there and make you scream my name again,” he says, keeping his eyes shut tightly.

Macy shivers, staring up at the ceiling. She knows Harry’s more than ready to deliver on his promise. “And what’s wrong with that?” she says, turning her head to watch Harry get to his feet. Her gaze drops down to his pants, and she licks her lips at the hard outline of his cock pressing against the material. She wonders if he can be persuaded to let her have a taste.

Harry swears, holding himself ramrod straight. “You mustn't _say_ things like that without warning,” he pleads.

Macy said that aloud? “Then how about this; you get us home in the next five minutes and I’ll let you choose where you want to put your cock,” she says, sitting up to grab the disparate edges of her top so she can pull the zipper up.

She barely finishes when Harry swoops in and picks her up from the floor, her shorts balled in his fist. “Harry!” she shouts and laughs, holding on tightly as he dashes up the stairs of the command center. “Give me my shorts!”

“Where we’re going, you won’t need them,” he vows, triggering the door. Before Macy can object, he steps with her over the threshold, and once again the universe bends to his will, and they are gone.

Two hours, a privacy candle, and an entire bottle of lube later, they lay in Macy’s bed, wonderfully sore and on the edge of drowsing. Still entangled with each other and neither wishing to go too far from the other. Of course, they have things they need to talk about; plenty of things. But after a very unconventional start, Harry and Macy find the healing of their relationship has finally begun. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [TheShipSailsItself](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheShipSailsItself/pseuds/TheShipSailsItself) for their valuable editing skills.


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